Cerasis flores mortuis
by The Seelie Court Jester
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a girl who met a fairy. That fairy was seated underneath a dead, cherry blossom tree.


The fields blossomed elegantly, in all their pain and sufferings, and within that field resided an abundance of colors, colors that grazed upon the upcoming lake's reflections like so. Petals shifted their directions every once in a while, swirling along the wind's rhythm, descending along the contours of the quiet spring morning. The shimmering evergreens that resided along the edge of the fields kept its seeds from falling, cascading onto the lush, dark green grass. Cool, calm breezes blew through the valleys, and just along the edge, far through the horizons, there were mountains all over, filled with snake-like rivers and pristine torrents. The waters brimmed with emotional melodies, so much so that even all the way down here, you could still hear their lullabies, spiteful and fickle.

In the middle of that spring field, there was a man. He had onyx hair, with dark, grieving eyes, eyes that've been closed ever since the mourning. His skin was pale, glimmering along the umbra-like lines of the trunk. Dark shadows followed the lines of his eyes, with a youthful weariness that was his, and his alone. He was covered with a torn, white sweater, embedded with silver feathers which were smoothly gliding across the fabric. His pale jeans were soiled along the wet fields, but he never noticed.

He was resting against a tall, twisted cherry blossom tree, whose leaves gave off a very dark shade. The buds were beginning to sprout, yet at the same time, some were already dead, the result of coming alive helplessly during the winter's biting frost. Their withered shells soon blew off the trees, slowly drifting onto the man's lap in its search for a long forgotten hearth. The vines wrapped around the roots of the tree, all desperate to reach the warm sunlight, endeavoring to get away from the darkness that wanted to drown them all. Even that comfortable shade made those delicate blossoms black, a color that should have been purged when spring first arrived.

So he opened his mouth, and sang a little song.

Rustling sounds came from the tall grasses to the side, and though the man never opens his eyes, he could tell that it was a child. A child that was so jubilantly scampering in the fields, probably gathering flowers for the local villages' May Festivals. Her bright, brown hair was tied up in a messy little bund, and freckles marred her adoring face. She wore those ceremonial clothes, an indigo dress with raven feathers hanging from her waist, like a badge of honor, and within the molds of her beaming face, there was impatience and boredom. Tired of spring already?

Her dark eyes kept gazing out to the fields, searching for some unique flower, one no one has ever seen before. Her friends kept telling her that there was a flower like that here, and that she should go look for it. But she's been to the fields so many times she can already tell which flower will bud, when it will blossom, and when it will die. She's familiar with their many fragrances, and their beautiful, fragile appearances. In fact, she's so much of an expert she even doubted her companions' challenge; there was no doubt in her mind that she knew every flower here.

She spotted the man from afar, and was a bit hesitant to approach him. After all, the elders have warned her enough times about the fairies that usually came to this village, monsters that enjoyed causing trouble wherever they went. She knew how vicious they were, and she could recite the enchantments that would destroy them, the prayers that would cast them away from her presence altogether. They were wicked, wicked beings, those fairies. And that man could be one.

But still, she crept closer, her curiosity already getting the better of her. She took one step. Then another. Then another. Then another, until finally, she stood a few feet away from the man, her little arms clutching the blossoms tightly. She stood there, the tiny little thing, her eyes boring the intruder's lips.

He was beautiful.

A benevolent aura pushed past her, its refreshing breath soothing her nerves. Her anxiety became little more than nonexistent under all her stress, and her arms loosened their choking grip. Though it seemed like the stranger was saying something, he looked like he was asleep, not even caring to see the world from his fantasies. The girl took one step closer, and tried to listen. Was it a curse? Was it a blessing? She couldn't tell.

And finally, he opens his eyes.

Though they were completely black, there was a compassionate light surrounding the pupils. His gaze was hypnotic, drawing its onlookers to relish in that same illusion he was cradled with. There was everything and there was nothing in those eyes, and it was so prominent the girl couldn't look away. A slight blush crept onto her face when the man gave her a tiny smile. "Can I help you?"

"U-um…" The girl couldn't find any words to say. He wasn't at all evil! Was he even a fairy at all? "Mister, why are you here?" she asks.

"I like it here," he answers honestly.

"Yeah but…" Again, her voice left her. Her frustrations sparked, so she quickly filled herself with that immature pride all children have, putting both hands on her waist, spreading her legs a bit, and almost staring down at the man. "This is our village's property! You can't be here!"

He blinked, then looked around, that same smile on his face. "I don't see anyone around."

"You need to go!"

"Yeah, I know." But the man stayed there, his back against the trunk. He never moved from that spot again, but his eyes did follow the trail of dead blossoms, all of which were now wasting away somewhere in the fields. She was getting annoyed, but once again, her curiosity peaked. "Hey, mister!"

"I'll leave in a bit," he replies lazily.

"Why are you under the tree?"

His own black pupils met hers. That benevolent aura suddenly froze, replaced by something more desolate, melancholic. Of course, his smile was still there, but all that genuine kindness was lost, along with the words of the question that started it all. He shrugged. "I like cherry blossom trees."

"Even if they're dead?"

The man stared at her for a while. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes grew a bit wide. From the girl's view, he was completely taken back, wasn't at all prepared for that simple curiosity. Was he sick? Did he have a fever?

Well, of course he did! Though it was spring, it was still so very cold, and anyone can die from it if they stay out here too long! Why else would he be near one? Dead cherry blossoms were so ugly! You couldn't do anything with them. You can't even put them on display for other people to see, and they weren't good for medicine, or at the least, that's what her mother said. So if a blossom that was alive was useless, how much more useless would a dead one be?

Then, to her shock, he said, "Even then."

She leaned forward a bit. "Why?"

"Just because."

"That's not an answer."

"Of course it is. I said something, didn't I?" He stared off at the empty space before him, and the two lapsed into silence again. The girl huffed, and promptly sat beside him. He turned to her with an amused expression dancing on his face. "I thought I had to leave?"

"I still have more questions to ask!"

"Okay then."

"What's so good about dead cherry blossoms anyways?" she asked suddenly.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because Mamma says so, and she always throws them away," the girl grumbled. "She keeps changing flowers every season, and it's not like they're permanent. They'll just keep growing and growing, even after we're all dead. What's so special about them?"

"You just said it."

"Huh?"

The man chuckled lightly, much to the girl's confusion. The heat returned to her face, and she hastily turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment. "They'll just keep growing," he explained quietly, "even after we're all dead. They're also very fickle, and they bloom wherever they want. It's hard to keep up with them, and it's extremely frustrating, when you have to keep track of every single petal."

"Mister?"

"It's feral, and can never be tamed by anyone," the man continues, and the girl straightens, shutting her mouth instantly. "The blossom serves its own emotions, and in its beauty, it entices you to follow wherever it goes, even if it's dragged to the very gates of Hell. And when they suddenly disappear, you suddenly realize how pointless your efforts were."

The man stops talking for a while. He looks out at the horizons for a few moments, then begins again.

"It's powerful, but it's incredibly fragile. And, even still, sometimes, instead of that good-for-nothing blossom your mom always goes on about, in the end, it turns out _you're_ the one who's really useless."

The girl looked up at the man in amazement. He reminded her of her father, the one who died when he went to war. She remembered that similar smile, and how that same amiability radiated from his nostalgic body. She remembered him telling her mother about the importance of each flower, and even when he died, she could hear him laughing all the way from Heaven.

He sat under the cherry blossom tree, like this man.

She leaned closer. "Mister? Are you fighting someone?"

He laughed, though she knew it was forced. "Where'd that question come from?"

"Are you fighting someone?" she repeated, this time with a harder tone.

Again, he examined her. She felt like an eternity had passed under his watchful orbs. Finally, he sighs. "I'm not. I'm waiting, actually."

"For who Mister?"

But before the man could say anything, the girl suddenly turned. She could hear her mother, calling out for her. She could hear the panic in her voice, the utter shock when she realized her daughter had gone missing. She stood up rapidly, and started to run back. However, she turned, and shouted, "Don't move from that spot!"

* * *

Everyone, apparently, had been looking all over for her. Her mother's rough cheek kept rubbing on the girl's, her big, fat arms smothering her with love. She was scolded, and many of the village elders threatened to beat her for scaring them so. She laughed at them all, and apologized afterwards, showing them the flowers they could use for the May Festival. She told them about the man underneath the cherry blossom tree.

The villagers, like the girl, were all curious to see the stranger. So, the girl and her mother decided to go out into the fields to meet him. Much to the girl's confusion and annoyance, her companion was no longer there. Why could he never do as she told him to?

But in his stead was the once dead cherry blossom tree, now blooming in celestial majesty.

* * *

Author's Note:

I do not own Naruto.


End file.
